Barford Abbey eBook

How sad, how gloomy, has been the approach of morning!—­About
six, for I had not clos’d my eyes,—­somebody
enter’d my chamber. I suppos’d it
Mr. Morgan, and drew aside my curtain.—­It
was not Mr. Morgan;—­it was the poor
disconsolate father of Miss Powis, more agitated, if
possible, than the preceding night.—­He
flung himself on my bed with agony not to be express’d:—­

What new misfortune, my friend? ask’d I, starting
up.—­My wife! return’d! he!—­she
is in fits;—­she has been in fits the whole
night.—­Oh Risby! if I should lose her,
if I should lose my wife!—­My parents
too, I shall lose them!—­

Words could not lessen his affliction. I was
silent, making what haste I could to huddle on my
clothes;—­and at his repeated intreaties
follow’d him to his wife,—­She was
sitting near the fire drowned; in tears, supported
by her woman. I was pleas’d to see them
drop so plentifully.—­She lifted up her
head a little, as I enter’d.—­How
alter’d!—­how torn to pieces with grief!—­Her
complexion once so lovely,—­how changed
in a few hours.

My husband! said she, in a faint voice, as he drew
near her.—­Then looking at me,—­Comfort
him, Mr. Risby;—­don’t let him sob
so.—­Indeed he will be ill;—­indeed
he will.—­Then addressing him, Consider,
she who us’d to be your nurse is now incapable
of the task.—­His agitation was so much
increas’d by her words and manner, that I attempted
to draw him into another apartment.—­Your
intentions are kind, said she, Mr. Risby;—­but
I must not lose my husband:—­you see
how it is, Sir, shaking her head;—­try to
sooth him;—­talk to him here but do
not take him from me.—­

Then turning to Mr. Powis,—­I am better,
my love,—­don’t frighten yourself:—­we
must learn to be resign’d.—­Set the
example, and I will be resign’d, said he,—­wiping
away the tears as they trickled down her cheek;—­if
my Fanny supports herself, I shall not be quite miserable.
In this situation I left them, to close my letter.

What is become of poor Lord Darcey? For ever
is he in my thoughts.—­His death
will be an aggravation to the general sorrow.—­Write
instantly:—­I wait your account with impatience;
yet dread to receive it.

LETTER XXXI.

The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to RICHARD RISBY,
Esq;

Dover.

Say not a word of it;—­no, not for the world;—­the
body of Miss Powis is drove on shore.—­If
the family choose to have her brought down, it may
be done some time hence.—­I have order’d
an undertaker to get a lead coffin, and will take
care to have her remains properly deposited.—­It
would be an act of cruelty at present to acquaint her
friends with this circumstance.—­I have
neither leisure or spirits to tell you in what manner
the body was found, and how I knew it to be miss Powis’s.